Life of Lindir
by Lily Lindsey-Aubery
Summary: Lindir's life is more interesting than you would think. Short excerpts from Lindir's chaotic existence. This story is because Lindir and the other lesser Elves need more love! Warning: Rated for serious randomness and some 'disturbing' fantasy action violence (:P) Starring: Lindir. Elrond, Glorfindel, and Legolas will also make appearances. Read, review, and enjoy!
1. Part One, Chapter 1

_Authoress' Note:_

_Warning: This is a lot of rambling and silliness. It doesn't have much of a plot._

_I do not own The Lord of the Rings, etc._

_Special thanks to Erestor (get back on here and start writing again!), who is so inspiring. My love for Lindir was first born when he put a paint pot over his head in 'Celeborn's Club'. Thank you, Erestor, for helping me choose my favourite elf! :P_

_Please read, review, and enjoy!_

* * *

**Part One: Nail Polish Remover**

**_Note: The sentiments expressed in this story are not necessarily those of the authoress. I actually like nail polish :P_**

_Chapter 1._

_In Which Fell Forces Enter Rivendell_

Lindir was running down a long passage in Rivendell.  
Now it is not a normal thing for Lindir to run down long passages; he was normally a nice, quiet, more or less dignified elf. But at this moment he was rather disturbed.  
It so happened that he had just seen Gildor. Gildor is rather a disturbing sight at the best of times, but even at his worst, when he had fallen into the sea of Rhun, he had not looked as bad as he did now.  
Gildor had painted his nails.  
Needless to say, Lindir was horrified. Paint is all very well, on walls or signs or the windshield of Legolas' shiny sports car, but on nails, especially those of a highly respected elf, it was positively electrifying.  
So Lindir made his way with amazing speed through Rivendell and to the library, where Erestor was stationed with Lord Elrond. They were having a private conference.  
Of course, neither was very pleased when Lindir rocketed through the door and landed squarely in Erestor's ink pot.  
At least, his face did; or at least, his _nose_ did. He came up out of the ink pot with a nose that rivaled Gildor's fingernails for painty-ness.  
'Lord Elrond,' he bubbled. Excuse him for bubbling, for it is hard to do anything else when you've just been dunked in ink.  
'Lindir?' replied the Lord of Rivendell calmly. He was used to oddities (after all, Erestor was always doing something strange, not to mention Glorfindel- or any of the other elves, really), and even the sight of an ink-soaked elven nose only mildly disturbed him.  
Lindir would have gulped nervously at this point, except he didn't want to swallow any ink, which was now dripping into his mouth and down his chin in a most amiable manner. 'My Lord,' he repeated, 'something terrible has happened to Gildor.'  
'Has he fallen into the horse trough again?' asked Erestor hopefully.  
'No,' said Lindir, scowling, 'He's done something much more serious.'  
'Don't tell me he's base-jumped* off Minas Tirith,' said Elrond, lowering his eyebrows. 'I've been so dependent on him to set a good example for the younger and wilder elves. We've lost so many through that mindless sport; even Denethor disapproves, and he's the one who started the fad. And Elessar has outlawed it.'  
'No, my Lord,' said Lindir, 'though I wish he had. He has endangered all the realms of elves and men, and subjected himself and the last homely house to unceasing ridicule to boot.'  
'Oh, dear,' said Elrond. Finally he was perturbed. Elrond was brave, fierce, and strong, and had endured many untimely elven deaths caused by base-jumping off Minas Tirith with amazing vigor. But ridicule was something he simply couldn't bear, and the thought of him being subjected to it was painful to say the least. 'What exactly did he do?' he asked, and a hint of foreboding crept into his voice.  
Now that it came to it, Lindir was very uncomfortable. It is strangely silly sounding to say outright, 'Gildor has painted his nails.' Lindir hadn't though of the embarrassing factor before. So he shifted shamefacedly and hesitated.  
'Out with it, elf,' said Lord Elrond irritably.  
Lindir closed his eyes and said the fell sentence very quickly. He slowly opened one eye to see Elrond's reaction.  
Elrond was puzzled. 'Gildor has painted his nails? What nails?'  
'_His_ nails,' said Lindir. 'And they look terrible.'  
'I believe he means his fingernails, my Lord,' explained Erestor. 'Tell me Legolas did, too,' he added to Lindir. 'I could get a picture and blackmail him for millions in a few years.'  
'I don't know if he did or not,' said Lindir. 'I only know that Gildor did, and is showing everyone from Mordor to Bree how ridiculous they look.'  
'Oh,' said Elrond. He would have been concerned for Lindir's mental health, but he had stopped worrying about it long ago when he realized that Lindir was too far gone for it to matter. 'Let me see them,' he said.  
'I'll stay here,' said Erestor quickly, straightening up the papers scattered on his desk. 'I have no desire to see this phenomenon.'

* * *

_*_Base-jumping off Minas Tirith was a popular sport in Gondor. It was Denethor who started the fad when he leaped to his death (or tried to).

_Sorry that nothing has really happened yet. The next chapters may be more interesting. :D_


	2. Part One, Chapter 2

**Part One**

_Chapter 2._

_In Which Elrond Discovers the Fell Force_

Elrond and Lindir made their way outside, and found Gildor where Lindir had left him minutes before, sitting on a bench surrounded by a small crowd of people, showing off his nails.

'Observe,' said Lindir, gesturing resignedly towards Gildor.

'What's all this?' asked Lord Elrond.

'Look,' said Gildor proudly, holding up his hands.

Elrond looked.

Gildor had painted his nails; or rather, gotten them painted, because he wasn't exactly talented at that sort of thing. He had been very original in the design he had chosen, deciding on an Avengers theme; on each fingernail resided either the Hulk, Ironman, Captain America, Thor, or Nick Fury colours. Gildor was very proud of them.

'Very interesting,' said Lord Elrond, 'but you've left out Hawkeye and Black Widow.'

'I didn't have enough fingers,' said Gildor.

'Lord Elrond!' cried Lindir, looking pained, 'do not tell me that you condone such, erm, wantonly insane behavior!'

'Of course not,' said Elrond. 'It looks ridiculous. Gildor, remove that stuff immediately.'

'Lord Elrond,' said a random blonde, walking up at that inauspicious moment, 'Lady Galadriel is here and wishes to see you.'

The Lady herself appeared, sweeping forward and nodding to Elrond.

'Elrond,' she said, 'how nice to see you again.'

Lindir's eyes bugged out*. Lady Galadriel was sporting pink hearts on each of her fingernails. Pink, _sparkly _hearts. He gulped.

'What happened to Lindir?' asked Gildor suddenly, noticing him for the first time.

Lindir was instantly conscious of the wet ink that was still residing peacefully on his nose. He blushed and drew out his handkerchief.

'My Lady,' said Elrond, who had also noticed her nails, 'what an unexpected,... surprise.' He wouldn't lie and say pleasure.

After Galadriel had gone (she and Elrond had talked a very long time about something that sounded really boring; Lindir thought it had something to do with forest preservation), Lindir approached Elrond again.

'What should we do?' he asked. 'With even Lady Galadriel herself caught up in this detestable fad we cannot forbid it, can we?'

'No,' sighed Elrond, 'we must concoct a new plan. If people' (and by people he meant Dwarves in particular) 'start hearing about this atrocity, we will be humiliated beyond repair.'

'Could the Lady be perhaps turned to our side by some diplomatic discussion?' asked Lindir hopefully. He didn't like pink hearts.

'Galadriel never changes her mind,' said Elrond with conviction. 'Just ask poor Celeborn.' Celeborn was in general referred to as 'poor Celeborn' by those who knew him because of his unfortunate position of being the husband of a beautiful and powerful (and bossy) lady, and being consequently overlooked by almost everybody.

'So we must resort to blackmail?' asked Lindir.

'Not unless absolutely necessary,' said Elrond. 'It's too risky. We need something subtler.'

'We could close down all the manicure places,' said Lindir.

'There's only one, and it's in Mirkwood,' said Elrond hopelessly. 'Thranduil would kill us if we attacked it, not to mention Legolas.' Elrond's eyes lit up with inspiration. 'We could get Glorfindel to start a new fad of non-fingernail-painted-ness. Or he could write a book about the dangers of fingernail polish.'

Lindir frowned. Glorfindel. Why did he have to come into everything? 'I would not recommend that course of action,' he said. 'Glorfindel will probably get his own nails painted. Sky blue. He'll paint them sky blue. Just watch.' His words faded away into mutters.

'Well, I think it's a very good idea,' Elrond insisted.

Their impromptu meeting had to adjourn at that moment because of an interruption by another random blonde, who wanted Elrond's opinion about what colour he should paint his nails.

Lindir face-palmed, and made a mental note to cause that elf some serious pain later.

'We'll speak more of this matter later,' hissed Elrond. 'Meet me tonight at seven in the library.'

Lindir did not look forward to the meeting. Somehow he was afraid he'd get stuck doing something unpleasant.

* * *

*Like this: O.o You may discover that Lindir often makes this face. It's a disorder of his.


	3. Part One, Chapter 3

**Part One**

_Chapter 3._

_In Which A Plot is Hatched_

That evening, at the designated time, Lindir cautiously opened the library door. It was dark, the only light coming from a candle on Erestor's desk. Elrond was only partially discernible in the shadows, and the whole atmosphere was one of menace. Lindir crept in.

'Sit,' said Elrond. Lindir sat.

'Now,' said Elrond, placing his fingertips together, 'to develop a strategy. Our aim: to blot painted nails from the earth. Our method: undecided.' He paused, and seemed to expect Lindir to say something. Lindir obliginly did.

'Nail polish remover?' he said, hoping that was the what Elrond wanted him to say.

'Idiot!' observed Elrond calmly. 'I know how to get it off, just not how to make other people get it off. Now think of something.'

'Me?' gasped Lindir. No one had ever asked him to think before. Or maybe they had, it was just too long ago for him to remember. Everyone had always assumed he was incapable of the exercise. Thus his surprise.

'Yes, you,' said Elrond, 'or do you want me to get Glorfindel's help?'

I cannot describe the face Lindir made, so I have decided to draw it instead: O.o Something like that.

Elrond beamed, seeing his victory in Lindir's features. 'Well, then, start thinking,' he said.

The library was very silent. Elrond and Lindir both sat, Elrond thinking, Lindir attempting to think. Both of these activities took concentration, so neither had much time to speak. The room got darker and darker. Lindir was glad Erestor wasn't there. One glowering elf in the dark was bad enough.

Lindir, after a while, got distracted from trying to think by the hope that Elrond would think of something first, and spare him the trouble. After this thought he forgot to think any more and occupied his time with wondering if the spider in the corner was a descendant of Ungoliant, and if it was going to drop on Elrond's head.

'Lindir,' said Elrond at last, 'we've been sitting here for over three hours. If you don't think of something soon I will make you personally put on Glorfindel's next birthday party.'

It's amazing what a threat can do for your intellect. I think it was the shock of it that jolted Lindir's brain into brilliance.

'We need some way to make them realize how ridiculous it is,' he said quickly, rambling in order to give himself time. 'They need to see how silly it looks.' He looked at Elrond. Elrond looked interested. That gave Lindir a small bit of confidence. 'We could start an advertisement on TV,' he continued, 'and have someone really stupid looking promoting it, and...'

'Wait a minute,' said Elrond, jumping up and pacing the room, 'I'm way ahead of you.' He began to bite his nails and looked very excited. 'The advertiser would have to look extremely silly. I know just who to use!' He smiled.

'Glorfindel, of course,' agreed Lindir, jumping up too, and almost as excited at Elrond.

Elrond looked surprised. 'No, I didn't mean Glorfindel,' he said. 'I was talking about you!' He beamed.

Lindir made this face: O.o again and sank back into his chair with a strangled, moaning sound in his throat.

'Never,' he said.

'All right, then,' said Elrond, rubbing his hands together, 'It's all settled.'

Lindir fainted.

* * *

_Sorry this chapter is so short. More is coming!_


	4. Part One, Chapter 4

**Part One**

_Chapter 4._

_In Which Lindir Plots Some More_

Lindir was more or less a pushover. He couldn't disappoint Elrond; Elrond was depending on him. The world was depending on him. Couldn't he see that all of Arda was in danger? He must be self-sacrificial, and put aside personal preferences for the greater good.

He did... sort of.

Lindir was desperate. Lord Elrond had said No Blackmailing, but Lindir had no choice. Lindir had said No Glorfindel, but now he was at wit's end. Besides, he had tried this before, and it had worked so well that the temptation was too great.

He needed to blackmail Glorfindel.

It sounds more complicated than it actually is. If you know him well, Glorfindel has quite a few weaknesses that one can monopolize on, and Lindir knew him well. As this was a delicate proceeding, Lindir decided to choose the most fool-proof.

Jaffa cakes.

Few knew of Glorfindel's weakness for these delectable treats; in fact, only Lindir knew. They kept it a secret from everyone else because Glorfindel wasn't supposed to eat them. Lady Galadriel had put him on a diet. Lindir himself only knew of it because he had come across Glorfindel sitting in the pantry and stuffing his face one day. He had agreed not to tell, realizing with elvish foresight the advantage of knowing something about his enemy no one else did.

The method was decided; now he had only to carry it out. He approached Glorfindel where he was sitting at breakfast the next morning.

'Glorfindel,' he said, smiling un-innocently, 'may I speak with you for a moment?'

Glorfindel was, of course, suspicious. 'About what?'

'Jaffa cakes,' said Lindir. The blonde's natural elven pallor went paler.

'Lindir,' he hissed, 'do not speak of that here!'

'Follow me,' said Lindir mysteriously. Glorfindel had no choice but to obey. Lindir led him to a dark corner. 'Listen,' he said in a low voice. 'Lord Elrond wants me to do something stupid.'

Glorfindel smiled, then quickly stopped, seeing the look on Lindir's face and knowing the power Lindir wielded.

'I don't want to do it,' Lindir continued. 'I need your help.'

'What do I have to do?'

'You have to offer to do it instead.'

'I'll do no such idiotic thing!'

'Oh?' Lindir smiled un-innocently again.

'A compromise,' said Glorfindel, ever the diplomat. 'I'll get Gildor to do it.'

Lindir cogitated for a moment. He hated to let the chance to pain Glorfindel go, but it would be almost as much fun to see Gildor suffer. 'Agreed,' he said at last.

'Now what is this stupid thing Gildor has to do?' asked Glorfindel curiously.

'Lord Elrond has a plan,' said Lindir, 'to abolish nail painting in Middle Earth.' Glorfindel snorted in contempt. 'Shut up,' said Lindir, 'and listen. He, not being able to think of a better way, has decided that someone must make nail polishing look as stupid as it is. The plan, in its simplest form, is this: a new manicure place will open in Rivendell. This will seem more or less natural, since painted nails are the rage, and Lord Elrond would, of course, wish to be progressive. After the business is established, it will, of course, be advertised. In the newspapers, on the TV, on billboards, etc. This gives us the opportunity we need to make painted nails look ridiculous. Which they already do. Revision: to make everybody realize they look ridiculous.'

'And your job would have been to _be _the advertisement? Haha, Lord Elrond was wise to choose you!' Glorfindel's mouth snapped shut when he saw Lindir's venomous glare. 'All right,' he said, subdued, 'though I don't quite see the need, I will help you with your scheme. I don't understand why you mind nail polish so much. It's not so bad.'

Lindir glared at him in undisguised disgust.

'But don't worry,' continued Glorfindel quickly, 'I know just how to make Gildor do it. Never fear.'

'Get to it, then,' said Lindir.

Lindir's plan worked. Glorfindel, through some secret known only to him (probably blackmail, though perhaps solely due to his charismatic personality) convinced Gildor to offer his services as an advertisement to Glammynails, Inc. However, Lindir did not get away completely scott-free. Lord Elrond (the owner of the new company) needed an advertising manager.

Of course he chose Lindir.

Lindir wrote about his experiences of the next few days in his journal.

Monday, June 23rd

Dear Lindir,

You will hate reading this. It is a terrible reminder of what happened to you on this day, which you will hate remembering. Don't read it. I know you never will, because you never do, and you never have reread all your other entries from years ago because they are so painful. However, in case you someday wish to, change your mind. You will regret it.

Today you began your advertising career: managing Glammynails' advertising branch. It sounds wonderful, doesn't it? You just got a job! If you think this, then you are deceived beyond comprehension. It was terrible.

Your first day went terribly. You realized too late that your job would consist of watching Gildor dancing in front of a camera, waving his fingers around and saying dumb things like, 'Glammynails is what we do.' 'You deserve a Glammynails today!' 'Eight out of ten owners who expressed a preference said their cats preferred Glammynails.' You had to stop after writing this. Writing this was giving you heart attacks.

You almost went insane. In fact, maybe you did.

Do elves go insane?

Your only consolation was that you weren't the one acting ridiculous. Some consolation.

Now that you are thoroughly depressed, I will leave you to your bad memories.

Sincerely,

Lindir, your previous self

But Lindir survived.

* * *

_Authoress' Note: Lindir Rules!_

_ Please review! _


	5. Part One, Chapter 5

**Part One**

_Chapter 5._

_In Which the Plot Either Fails or Succeeds_

_(Lame title, I know, but I can't exactly tell you which it does, now can I?)_

The thing that was perhaps worst about Lindir's situation was his employer.

Legolas had come up from Mirkwood expressly to recommend himself to Elrond when he heard that Rivendell wanted a nail salon. He thought himself exceptionally gifted at the art, and eagerly begged to be proprietor of Glammynails. Elrond reluctantly agreed. Lindir did not.

'I will not be employed by a dandified elf prince who things glitter is "beautiful". "Beautiful"! He calls it "Beautiful"! Despicable! And what's worse, he looks like a vampire because he gets it all over himself. Talented indeed!'

But Lindir was again reminded of his duty to Middle Earth by Elrond.

Gildor enjoyed those days. He became a pop icon because of his frequent appearances on TV and billboards (the latter of which sprung up mysteriously all around Rivendell, where they had been outlawed before). In fact, frequent isn't the right word for his television appearances; they happened about every five minutes.

It was about a week after the start of Lindir's job that Elrond began to worry about him. Lindir was growing thin and pale- well, thinner and paler. He didn't eat much and refused to go outside with Gildor (no one could blame him, because wherever Gildor went people would say, 'Oh, look, it's the Glammynails dude!' and Lindir didn't particularly like being seen with someone known as the Glammynails dude). Elrond worried, mostly because he had estimated that it would take approximately three weeks for the general public to awaken to the serious consequences of nail polish, and if Lindir fell ill (or died) before that time he would have to find a new advertisement manager.

'Lindir,' he said, 'I need you to survive. Your survival is crucial to the plan.'

Lindir didn't seem to care. He walked around like a zombie, and when anyone tried to talk to him he usually answered with the expressionless statement of the word 'nails'. Gildor's advertisements were an all-new sort of advertisement: he came on screen, holding a bottle of pink, glittery nail polish between his manicured fingertips and saying as he smiled inanely at the camera, 'Glammynails: you deserve it.' (This slogan Elrond had made up, and was quite proud of it. 'Not only is it catchy,' he observed, 'but it is also entirely true!') Gildor's advertisements were quite boring, and even Lord Elrond could not ask for it to look more ridiculous.

So Elrond couldn't figure out why Glammynails was doing so well. Legolas was making twice his yearly allowance, and his father refused to support him anymore because he was getting too rich. He was making even more than the owner of Mirkwood Manicures. By the end of the fourth week Elrond was no longer worried that Lindir would ruin the plan; he was worried that the plan would ruin itself.

'Why isn't it working?' he said, storming into the library where Lindir was lying under the couch. No one knew why. It's just something he had started doing since getting the new job.

Elrond, of course, did not get an answer from Lindir. But he stayed and kept talking, because talking to someone, even if it be an unresponsive someone, is very therapeutic.

'I had it all mapped out. Everyone from the Shire to the sea of Rhun should have realized by now the sillyness of nail polish. But no!' He banged his fist on the arm of the couch, making it, and Lindir, jump. 'Gildor still pollutes Rivendell with his bedecked fingers; Galadriel still haunts the shades of Lorien with those detestable, sparkly pink hearts; nail polish is getting sold out at Glammynails faster than Legolas can order it. Even Arwen is wearing the stuff, though it goes directly against my command. Why isn't it working? I don't understand! Valar preserve us. If this continues for much longer, I will personally hire Sauron to take over Middle Earth and enforce anti-nail polish laws.'

Lindir moaned in agreement. So he was awake. Or at least alive.

'We need a new plan,' groaned Elrond, flopping on the couch.

It is said that when life looks darkest, when Middle Earth is in the gravest danger, always someone will rally to save the day. Perhaps that is why Lindir suddenly had a flash of brilliance. He dropped his pathetic apathy, rolled out from underneath the lounge and jumped up, a strange look on his face.

'My Lord,' he said, 'If I might make a suggestion.'

Elrond forgot to answer for a while, because he was so surprised at Lindir's change of attitude. His face was positively lit up.

'Well?'

'Did you know that the common saying "'til the cows come home" has been twisted by the maladjusted populace of Middle Earth to be "'til Gorbag paints his nails"?'

Elrond was horrified. 'No,' he said, trying to recover from the shock.

'Well, it has,' said Lindir bluntly. 'Now what if Gorbag really did paint his nails?'

'What?'

'If Sauron's minions, Nazgul, Orcs, Balrogs, etc., were to actually paint their nails, it wouldn't be cool anymore, would it?'

'No.'

'Well, then, that's my plan,' said Lindir, crossing his arms triumphantly.

'What do you mean?' asked Elrond. 'You don't propose to try to paint Gorbag's nails, do you?'

'Oh, it's easy enough to photoshop,' said Lindir, shrugging carelessly. 'I could spread it all over the internet. Imagine: "We painted our nails before it was cool" with a picture of a glittery Gorbag, plus a few Barrow Wights and maybe a Wring Wraith or two. It would go viral on Tweetbook and Giggle-.'

Elrond thought for a while. 'You know,' he said, 'that just might work.'

'It's worth a try,' said Lindir.

Elrond put the plan into action immediately, stationing Lindir at his own private laptop to edit the image of Gorbag (which Lindir mysteriously had on a hard-drive) and stationing himself near the library door to keep unwanted people out.

It was done in no time (though Lindir did have a little trouble with the photo editor saying that he was using an illegal image). Using Elrond's password gave them immense sway over what showed up on people's browsers (one of the perks of being a Lord, I suppose), and it was quite easy to manipulate it so that no matter what you searched for, the image would appear. Lindir had also figured out how to post it on the profile of every person on Tweetbook.

'It's amazing what you can do with the internet and Elrond's password,' he thought, sitting back and surveying his work.

* * *

_Yes, it is. :D There you go; next chapter will be up soon._


	6. Part One, Chapter 6

**Part One**

_Chapter 6._

_In Which Everything is Almost Back to Normal_

That evening Glorfindel was surprised to see Lindir at dinner. Lindir hadn't come to dinner for four weeks; in fact, Glorfindel hadn't seen him since the blackmailing incident. He had heard about Lindir's job as advertising manager for Glammynails, and could guess what a horror it was for him. He wondered if he had lost his job; he could think of nothing else that would cheer Lindir up so much.

'Why, what's the matter, Lindir?' he asked in a friendly manner.

'Why would anything be the matter?' said Lindir. 'I'm great!'

'Well,' hesitated Glorfindel, 'you came down to dinner, so I just assumed that something must be terribly wrong.'

'No, I'm fine,' Lindir assured him.

Someone decided to turn on the TV at that moment. The first thing on the screen was a large picture of Gorbag and his Nazgul buddies, with large red letters across the top of the picture reading, 'We painted our nails before it was cool'. There were chokes and gasps from all sides.

Lindir smiled. Then he noticed that Glorfindel seemed to be very red. For an elf.

'What's the matter?' he asked.

Glorfindel flushed more and put his hands quickly behind his back. But not quick enough.

'Sky blue,' thought Lindir, 'I knew it.' He smiled condescendingly at Glorfindel. He almost felt fond of, and rather sorry for the golden-haired elf. Until the image of Gildor dancing around on the television with glittery nails and saying, 'All you need is Glammynails and a dream' flashed into his head.

His pity left Glorfindel and flew to himself.

He would never recover from that traumatic experience.

**Epilogue**

Nail polish was swiftly removed from every aspect of sophisticated Middle Earth life, as people everywhere shunned it as fell. Elrond's (and Lindir's) purpose was accomplished.

Gorbag was at first very angry at the libel and denied having ever worn a blot of nail polish, but soon stopped protesting, beginning to like the popularity it got him. He even got his nails polished (polish was cheap at this time, and could even be found by the roadside, abandoned by former fans) to keep his reputation of nail-polished villainy.

Lindir did recover from his pitiful advertising career. But he thinks (as well as Elrond) that he never fully regained his mental and emotional health. He however tends to look on the bright side, being happy he survived.

And besides, if nothing else, their end was attained: never again did nail polish pollute Middle Earth (at least not the civilized parts).

* * *

_The End! _

_Of part one. I think more parts are coming. Expect utter and complete randomness in the days ahead. I mostly just write without thought of plot, etc. Beware!_

_Please review! :D _


	7. Part Two, Chapter 1

_Authoress' Note: _  
_You dudes are totally awesome! I was overwhelmed by the many wonderful reviews the first part got. Thank you, thank you, thank you! You are so encouraging. Each one of you is so much fun to hear from! And I love profile pictures, don't you? They can give you such personality, you know? :D Thanks again, and here's the first chapter of (drum roll and music notes of destiny) Part Two!_

_P. S. How this title came about: I was listening to film soundtracks (weird? yes; but I love that kind of music. Don't ask why, I don't know!) and one of the songs was called 'Bastian's Happy Flight' (I think it's from The NeverEnding Story, but I don't know. I haven't seen that movie). I liked the title and the song, so I decided to STEAL it. *evil grin* If you want to, you can listen to the music on grooveshark._

**Part two: Lindir's Happy Flight**  
Chapter 1.

Lindir was weary.  
He had a rather stressful existence, when you think about it. His job consisted of being a minstrel (this can be extremely stressful if Elladan and Elrohir are around to make fun of your mistakes) and doing whatever random things Elrond wanted him to do at the moment.  
'It's really not fair,' he often thought; 'Erestor is supposed to do all Lord Elrond's dirty work.' But Lindir did his duty as a good elf should, and expected nothing more than his wages.  
So he was surprised when Elrond said to him one day, 'Lindir, you look weary.'  
Not only was he surprised; he was also a little worried. Lindir knew more than most of Elrond's obsession with healing people, and he didn't particularly enjoy it when he was the object on which Elrond practiced his talent.  
'Lindir, I think you need a vacation,' continued Elrond. Now Lindir was really worried. Did Lord Elrond find him unnecessary? Was he unwanted, unneeded?  
'I'm going to send you to Minas Tirith,' said Elrond. 'King Elessar I am sure will be pleased to welcome you, and it's so peaceful there, not at all like Rivendell.'  
'Milord,' said Lindir, his elven pallor disappearing and being replaced by a slight flush, 'I am perfectly rested. I do not need a vacation, I assure you.'  
'Come now, I insist!' insisted Elrond. 'If you do not get a rest soon you'll drop.'  
'Are you sure Gondor is a restful place?' asked Lindir doubtfully.  
'Oh, yes,' said Elrond. 'They have a golf course. I even hear they have an inner-city swimming pool. And Rohan's not far away; you could go there once in a while and watch their polo matches. I hear Gamling is an epic player.'  
'I don't like horses,' said Lindir, still doubtful.  
'Well, don't tell Eomer that. Anyhow, you will go, won't you?'  
'You sound as if you want me to go away,' said Lindir, rather offended.  
Elrond shifted uncomfortably. 'Well,' he said slowly, 'as a matter of fact, yes I do. You see,' he hastened to explain, 'Legolas is coming for a visit.'  
'Oh,' said Lindir. Now he understood.  
Ever since the fateful day when Lindir began his short-lived advertising career he had not been able to stand the sight of Legolas. Surprisingly it had not always been this way. Lindir used to be best friends with Legolas; he spent hours thinking up ways to annoy him, and spent more hours carrying them out, causing him and Legolas to be together very frequently. He was attracted to Legolas the same way an angry bull is attracted to a flapping red cloth. They went together like chili and hot sauce. But since that fateful day, as I have said, Lindir couldn't even enjoy harassing Legolas anymore. When Legolas was around he began to do strange things, like hide under couches or climb up chimneys. Doing these things made him look insane.  
Elrond didn't really care if Lindir looked insane or not, since Lindir in his opinion was*** insane; but when Legolas took reports back to King Thranduil about Lord Elrond's mad minstrel he began to grow concerned.  
'You see the necessity of such an action,' said Elrond.  
'I do,' agreed Lindir. 'I will go to Gondor. But,' he added as an afterthought, 'don't let Elladan in my room. Last time I left he replaced all my harp strings with spaghetti noodles.'  
'Deal,' said Elrond promptly. Hard as it was to keep Elladan out of Lindir's room, it was harder to make Lindir act natural around Legolas.  
'Now you promise you'll go to Minas Tirith?' he asked again eagerly.  
Lindir raised his eyebrows suspiciously. 'Yes. I already said I would.'  
'All right, then,' said Elrond, smiling in relief. 'No backsies.'  
'What trickery is this?' asked Lindir, growing more and more suspicious.  
'Gildor is going with you,' said Elrond, and began to walk away very hurriedly. 'No backsies, remember?'  
Lindir's blood began to boil. But what could he do against his employer? He growled something not very elf-like and went to pack his bags.  
No elf ever traveled light. If someone tries to make you believe one did, he is plotting some strange plot against you. Elves can't travel light. There are a multitude of things that are (or seem) absolutely essential to them. The main things are hair products and accessories.  
There are certain things Lindir always takes with him everywhere. One of them is his mandolin. Another is his large plush shark. He also takes a box of lembas whenever going some place. So Lindir packed even heavier than most elves.  
But much as Lindir packed, it was nothing to what Gildor was bringing. I cannot name every useless item the blonde took with him, but as an example, his stuffed warg took up a whole saddlebag.  
Lindir was quite uncomfortable on the journey. For one thing, he disliked horses, and had to bear the company of three to carry him, Gildor, and their paraphernalia. For another thing, he disliked Gildor, and had to bear his company for the whole journey. He began to wonder within five minutes if he had been wise to head towards Minas Tirith.  
It took a very long time to get there. When at last he saw the peak of rock jutting out of the city he was almost ecstatic. He had been to Minas Tirith before, a long time ago, but he didn't remember much about it.  
'Perhaps I shall enjoy the golf,' he thought.


	8. Part Two, Chapter 2

_Authoress' First Note:_

_OneSizeFitsAll pointed out in a review that I used an idea of hers. In 'A Resort for Random Elves' her main character is sent off on a vacation, and doesn't want to go. A similar thing happens in my last chapter. So sorry to OneSizeFitsAll! Believe me it was unintentional. So give her some credit for the last chapter. I sometimes forget where my ideas came from, and attribute them to my own genius when they're from something I heard or read or saw :P_

**Part Two**

Chapter 2.

Lindir and Gildor entered Minas Tirith.  
'Ah, Gildor!' said King Elessar, striding to meet them. 'Lord Elrond told me you'd be coming. Oh, and welcome, Lindir,' he added as an afterthought.  
'Er, yes,' said Lindir, embarrassed. Everyone was looking at them. That was one of the reasons Lindir didn't like royalty. People were always looking at them.  
'Come, let's go to the palace. It's about time for dinner,' said Aragorn.  
Lindir's prospects seemed to brighten at the mention of dinner. He was hungry. Lembas isn't really all it's trumped up to be, and he hadn't had anything else for the whole journey.  
Dinner was over far too quickly for Lindir's tastes; why were men always in a hurry? But there was lots of dessert, so he decided he didn't mind so much.  
After dinner the men and Elves began to discuss boring, political matters, like 'Would Galadriel get angry if we harvested any lumber from Lothlorien?' and, 'If she did, could we withstand a full-out Lothlorien invasion?' and, 'Why not?'  
This Lindir was not interested in the least. But then something caught his ear.  
'What are you going to do to enforce the anti-base-jumping laws?' someone asked King Elessar.  
Lindir remembered hearing Lord Elrond speak of that. He said it was very dangerous, and lured many young, naive Elves and men to untimely ends. Lord Elrond made everyone who traveled to Minas Tirith have a special pass if they weren't over 1,000. He was worried that the base-jumping would decrease Imladris' population.  
So Lindir listened to the next part, thinking that perhaps he could bring back some good news to Lord Elrond on the subject.  
'I don't know,' admitted King Elessar. 'It's getting worse and worse; in fact, the other day I found a whole line-up out there. The guards were having trouble stopping them.'  
'If I might make a suggestion,' said one man. 'If you were to sentence to death everyone who did it (and survived), it would discourage people from attempting it. Either they would die, or they would die. They would have no chance of survival.'  
'That is an idea,' said the King, rubbing his scruffy chin thoughtfully. (Lindir wondered why he still didn't shave, not having the excuse of being a ranger anymore.) 'Well, then, write it up and I'll sign it.'  
'Yes, my Lord,' said the man, and went off to do this task immediately.  
Dinner ended and the crowd dwindled slowly. Lindir went to bed early, being tired from his journey.

The next day, Lindir sat under the white tree of Gondor. It was a nice place to get a tan, since the sun shone directly down in that spot and the tree did not offer much shade, but Lindir wasn't particularly interested in a tan.  
He was trying to relax by playing his mandolin.  
It wasn't exactly working. For one thing the guards that were standing around looked excessively annoyed.  
'These mortals don't appreciate good elven music,' he sniffed, and played on, but he was irked all the same.  
Then to complete the ruining of his day his arch nemesis walked up and slapped him on the back.  
'Lindir! How good to see you again!' It was Legolas.  
Lindir succeeded in only breaking two strings of his mandolin. He recovered himself pretty well under the circumstances, but couldn't think of anything to say, not being able to return the compliment.  
'Well, well, Lindir,' said Legolas again. Lindir cringed. Why did Legolas have to bother him of all people? Poor, innocent Lindir! What had he ever done to deserve this?  
Well, that's another (very long) story, so I won't go into it at the moment.  
Lindir's self-pitying thoughts were interrupted by Legolas speaking again:  
'I have a favor to ask of you,' he said.  
Worse and worse. If there was anything more terrible than Legolas, it was Legolas asking a favor.  
'What favor?' asked Lindir, a strong sense of foreboding seeping through him.  
'We can't talk here,' said Legolas in a mysterious whisper. 'We'll discuss this tonight. Same place at 22:00.'  
Lindir was forced to comply, because immediately after this Legolas disipated into the atmosphere and vanished.  
Lindir, once Legolas had left, started the long process of recovering from the shock, while at the same time restringing his mandolin. Within three hours he was sufficiently calm, and was able to go to lunch. But he was excessively annoyed; Legolas was supposed to be in Rivendell. He had left so that he wouldn't have to see him.  
'Bother that Elf prince,' he huffed.  
But Lindir noted that his reaction to a surprise Legolas wasn't as bad as it had been the last time. He brightened at the thought; it meant that he was healing from his PTLS (Post Traumatic Legolas Stress)! Maybe in a year or two he would be completely better.

_Authoress' Note:_  
_Authoress' note is the funnest part! (Is 'funnest' even a word? Pop poll: review and tell me if funnest is a word or not!) Speaking of which, this one is super super long. Oh, well; I love asserting my authoressness, you know? Anyway, please review! Thank you for all the reviews I have gotten! I love them like chocolate...almost. Everyone have a wonderful day and go eat some cheesecake for no reason! And I'm using way too many exclamation marks! But periods look so gloomy, don't they? _

_So I have some assignments for you (besides eating cheesecake): take my awesome poll (answer the one I mentioned in a review, and I also have one on my profile), and look up my new awesome community. It's mostly Erestor stories right now, so if you have any more stories to suggest, please do! Thank you!_

_P. S.: Erestor says that everyone should write a Sick!Aragorn fic. Oh no! I don't have one! Should I write one? Yes? No? Review!_

_!_


	9. Part Two, Chapter 3

_Authoress' Note:_

_Sorry it took so long for me to get this chapter up. I've been looking for a beta that fits my very picky taste. :P I'm kinda afraid to permanently choose one, because what if she/he stops getting on fanfiction dot net, or what if they stop liking my story, or what if...? You get the point._

_I just realized that the abbreviation for the title of this story is LOL. Lol, lol, I love it! XD It's this story's destiny to be hilarious! Now live up to that, Life of Lindir! _

**Part Two**

Chapter 3.

Lindir showed up at the rendezvous that night, firstly, because he was a pushover, secondly, because he was curious, and thirdly, because he thought that perhaps if he pushed himself to be with Legolas it might heal him faster.  
Legolas was already there. He looked very spooky, a dark shadow under the white tree of Gondor.  
'Aaahh,' Legolas hissed (if you _can_ hiss that word), 'so there you are. I was beginning to be afraid you'd been caught.'  
'Caught?' Lindir gulped. 'Why would I be caught?'  
'Oh, Gondorian soldiers are pretty sly,' said Legolas airily. 'If they'd seen you, they would have caught you.' Lindir wanted to ask why they would have caught him, but he was having difficulties with his voice box at the moment. It only wanted to squeak.  
'Now listen,' Legolas went on. 'I need your help.'  
'Before we go on,' said Lindir, interrupting, 'can you tell me why you're here, and not at Rivendell? Lord Elrond said that Thranduil was sending you there.'  
'Yes,' said Legolas uncomfortably, 'but I elected to ignore that command. I mean, I'm always working. I needed a vacation. Anyway, as I was saying: I need your help.'  
'With what?' asked Lindir suspiciously.  
'Base-jumping.'  
Lindir almost fainted.  
'You are aware that this is against the law,' Legolas continued. 'Therefore it will have to be done in the utmost secrecy.'  
Lindir stopped hyperventilating with an effort. 'Do you happen to know,' he said slowly, 'that there has been a new law made about base-jumping?' Legolas did not. 'It states that anyone who survives a base-jump will be sentenced to death.'  
Legolas looked startled. Lindir felt smug. 'Hah,' he thought, 'I've settled him!'  
'It does not signify,' said Legolas, shrugging. Lindir choked. 'All it means is that we must do it in even more secrecy. In the dead of night. No one must know it was us.'  
'Us?!' Lindir turned pale. This was going too far. 'I am **Not** going to base-jump. And that's final!' He began to walk away.  
'Wait,' said Legolas, 'that's not what I meant. I don't want _you_ to base-jump; I want you to help _me_ base-jump.'  
'Help?' asked Lindir, turning back to face Legolas again. 'How?'  
'Originally it was to guard my back, to stop any blade-happy Gondorian soldiers from stabbing me. Now it's that, and in addition to that being my witness.'  
'In court?' asked Lindir dubiously, 'because you should know that I would tell the truth, so it wouldn't help you much.'  
'No, no,' laughed Legolas. His laugh was so annoying. 'I mean, if I have to do this in secret, and no one is to know who it was, what good is it? None of my friends will believe me if I say that I did it. So I want _you_ to tell them, too.'  
'Friends?' asked Lindir. Somehow he was surprised that Legolas had any. 'But if I tell them, everyone will know it was you who jumped off!'  
'Ah, but they won't have proof,' said Legolas. 'Come on, Lindir, it's the least you can do!'  
'Why don't you just get your friends to help you?'  
'It's complicated,' said Legolas. 'I don't think they would.'  
'So you're coming to an enemy, to try to get him to do something for you your friends won't?'  
'Well, yes,' said Legolas, as if that were natural.  
What can I say? Lindir is a pushover.  
'Oh, all right,' he said.

* * *

_Authoress' Note:_  
_I've noticed that there are never enough chapters to put in all the authoress' notes I want to. Oh, well; I'll deal with it (by putting two in this chapter XD). Today I have a question for you all: What is your favourite Middle Earthian weapon? Axe, sword, bow, knife, gunpowder :D, Morgul blade, bare hands, mace, none of the above? Please review and tell me! Oh, I almost forgot: add the Precious to that list. That's everybody's favourite weapon, right? :D I look forward to hearing from you!_

_P.S: I might just write that Aragorn fic...Hmm, I just need a bit of inspiration. It may take a little while, but it will be here someday! :D_


	10. Part Two, Chapter 4

_Authoress' Note:_

_Hello, here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it! And I have another question for reviewers:_

_If you could live anywhere in Middle Earth, where would it be? The Shire, Minas Tirith, Rivendell, Mordor, Mirkwood, the Lonely Mountain, Mount Doom, as a few examples?_

_And about my favourite weapon: I think mine would have to be either a morgul blade, a bow, or the Precious. :P Morgul blades seem very deadly; the Precious is really powerful; and everyone cool shoots bows. Seriously. Hawkeye, Kili, Emma and Mr. Knightly (in the Gwyneth Paltrow version of Emma), and even Hiccup in HTTYD 2. I'm sure there's more that I can't think of right now... anyway, they're really cool. :D_

**Part Two**

Chapter 4.

'Now this is how we'll do it,' said Legolas, glancing furtively around. 'We'll meet up at ten tomorrow night back here again; I'll have the parachute. All you need is a stick or something.'

'A stick?'  
'Yes. For knocking the guards out.'  
'Guards?'  
'Well, there might not be any,' Legolas added hastily. 'The stick is just a precaution.'  
Lindir thought he would need a more deadly precaution.  
'You got it?' asked Legolas. Just then four guards walked up. 'Yo,' said one of them, 'what are you doing here?'  
''Um, hatching plots. -I mean, nothing!' Lindir said quickly.  
'What he means,' said Legolas, glaring at him, 'is that we're planning Glorfindel's surprise birthday party.'  
Lindir gasped.  
'Oh, sure,' said the guard. 'Invite me!'  
There was a singularly uncomfortable silence.  
'Um,' said Legolas.  
'Sorry, but we have to stay here,' said the guard. 'To make sure no one base-jumps.'  
A strangled growl came from Legolas' throat. 'Oh, all right. Lindir and I will go talk somewhere else.'  
He grabbed Lindir's arm and dragged him away to his room.  
'Curses!' he yelled, once the door was safely shut. He kicked over the trash bin. 'Snap, snap, snap! Foiled!'  
'Calm yourself, Legolas,' said Lindir, sitting down in a convenient arm chair. 'It won't kill you to not base-jump. In fact, it will probably do the opposite...'  
Legolas did not seem consoled. 'Bah,' he said, stomping to his desk and pulling out some paper, 'time for a new strategy.'  
'Oh, give it up,' advised Lindir. 'You'll never succeed, and if you do you'll never survive.'  
'It appears that there are no guards during the day,' said Legolas. 'We'll have to do it sometime when they're not around. But in the daylight everyone will recognize me.'  
'You could always wear a disguise,' Lindir observed. He facepalmed. Why did he say that?  
'Good idea,' said Legolas. 'That won't be too hard.'  
'Yes,' agreed Lindir. 'All you have to do is cut your hair.'  
Legolas looked appalled. 'Oh no. Such drastic measures will not be necessary, I assure you. We'll do the old stand-by; fake nose, mustache, glasses. Glasses? No, sunglasses are cooler.' He drew something on his paper, Lindir couldn't imagine what. 'We'll have to wait until the day after tomorrow,' Legolas continued, 'because tomorrow will be spent in surveillance. We must discover what hours the Minas Tirithical rock is free of guards and pestilential pedestrians.'  
'You, Legolas,' said Lindir, yawning, 'not me. I'm tired; I think it already _is_ tomorrow. I'm going to bed.'  
Legolas did not respond; he seemed to be cogitating his new plan. Lindir left and wen to bed, not waking until ten the next morning.

* * *

_I just realized how very short this chapter is. Sorry about that; another one should come soon, and hopefully it will be longer. :D_


	11. Part Two, Chapter 5

**Part Two**

Chapter 5.

By the time Lindir awoke, breakfast was over. Having nothing else to do he wondered out onto the rock, and found it to be extremely windy. He didn't like wind; it messed up his hair.  
'Ah, Lindir!' said the all too familiar voice, and Legolas appeared. 'I have discovered what time,' he said.  
'Oh?' asked Lindir, interested. He thought he was speaking of lunch. 'When?'  
'Now.' Lindir brightened. 'There's no one about. All I have to do is get the parachute and disguise. I'll be back.' He disappeared.  
Of course, Lindir knew what he was talking about now. He resumed breathing in time to prevent death by suffocation, and began looking around for a stick. He wished he had taken the time to find a kitchen knife.  
Suddenly he was aware of another presence making its way out onto the rock. It was rather hard not to be aware of; it carried a very large, multi-coloured kite-like thing. It was, in fact, Gildor.  
'Whatever are you doing, Gildor?' asked Lindir.  
'I'm going para sailing,' said Gildor happily.  
'But that's against the law, isn't it?' asked Lindir. (There had been several deaths from para sailing off Minas Tirith, too, but that is another story.)  
'I have a licence from King Elessar,' said Gildor, getting it out and flapping it in Lindir's face.  
Legolas appeared again.  
'What?' he asked.  
'Nothing,' said Lindir, trying to straighten his face. Apparently Legolas' plan of disguise had survived the frequent revisions of his strategy.  
'What are you doing here?' asked Legolas of Gildor.  
'He's para sailing,' explained Lindir.  
'You. Out. Now,' said Legolas, helpfully pointing the way for Gildor.  
'I'm para sailing!' protested Gildor. He tugged at his flying device. 'Lindir, will you help me get this thing over there?'  
Lindir shrugged and began to pull at the para sail. Legolas growled and tapped his foot impatiently.  
'Now how exactly does this work?' Gildor wondered, once the para sail was in place.  
'You mean to tell me that King Elessar gave you a licence to para sail when you don't even know how?' Lindir yelled above the wind.  
'I guess,' said Gildor. 'It's probably due to my friendly personality.'  
'Why didn't I try that?' Legolas wondered.  
'Woah, it's blowing aw- Catch it, Lindir!' yelled Gildor.  
The para sail, caught by a large gust of wind, made a desperate attempt to escape the clutches of the two elves. And it partially succeeded; Gildor wisely let go, but Lindir did not. Before he knew what was happening, the earth dropped away from beneath him and he was miles up in the air.  
I shall not say that he did scream, and I shall not say that he didn't. I shall leave that to the reader's imagination.  
'Valar preserve us,' he said, hanging on for dear life. Or perhaps his life wasn't so dear; Lindir would say it wasn't, but he held on all the same.  
If Lindir would have noticed, it was the perfect day for para sailing. The sky was blue, with only a few clouds scattered here and there. It was not too hot, and not too cold. The wind currents were strong. The view was beautiful. If Lindir would have been less stressed, he could have had a very happy flight.  
But, truth to tell, Lindir was too busy hanging on to have time for thinking of anything else. I don't think he enjoyed it much, and I don't think he'll ever do it again.  
The next night Lindir staggered into Minas Tirith- or rather, his horse, which he had borrowed from some Rohirrim or other, staggered. He stumbled off of it.  
'Oh, hello Lindir,' said Gildor cheerily. 'Where did you put my para sail?'  
'It's in a cow field somewhere in Rohan,' he said.  
Gildor looked worried, and went off calling for a horse.  
Lindir continued his stumbling until he found Elessar.  
'Hello,' said the king. 'You went para sailing without a licence, you know that?' He shook his finger up and down in Lindir's face.  
'Of course I know that,' Lindir snapped. Then he added nervously, 'What's the penalty?'  
'Oh, three years in the cooler,' said the king airily.  
Lindir opened and shut his mouth several times.  
'But don't worry,' said Elessar, 'Lord Elrond has bailed you out.'  
Lindir sighed in relief. So he had at least one friend. He decided not to ask for that raise after all.  
Suddenly he remembered. The cause of all his troubles...  
'Where is Legolas?' he asked apprehensively.  
'Right now he's in the hospital.'  
Lindir started. 'What for?'  
'A broken femur, I think. And some other bone, I can't remember which right now. And some minor bumps, bruises, cuts, and black eyes, etc.'  
Lindir noted the plurality of 'black eyes.' 'What happened to him?' he asked.  
'He tried to base-jump off my city, that's what happened to him. He was attacked by my faithful guards, but still managed to leap off...'  
'And he is not dead?' asked Lindir in astonishment. Not disappointment. Really.  
'No,' said the king sheepishly. 'He didn't make it to the ground beneath. The jury decided that his base-jump didn't qualify for the death sentence. I'll admit it was rather disappointing. We've never had an execution before.'  
This interesting conversation was interrupted by two soldiers walking up.  
'Yo, Lindir,' said one of them. 'When did you say Glorfindel's birthday party would be?'  
The king looked interested. 'You're planning Glorfindel's birthday party? Oh good! Now I won't have to do it, like Elrond asked me to!' He walked away, whistling happily and completely out of tune.  
Lindir groaned.  
'Why didn't I let go of the para sail?' he wondered.

* * *

_Authoress' Note:_

_I think it's about time for Lindir to have a bright spot in his dull existence. He needs some sunlight in his tragic life. What do you all think?  
Should he have something nice happen to him for once?  
Please review and let me know! :D _

_P.S.: I have started my Sick!Aragorn fic. The first chapter should be up soon; get ready to see our favourite Ranger suffer! *muahahaha*_


	12. Part Three, Chapter 1

_Note: Here, finally, is part 3. Sorry it took so long; I was working on the Sick Aragorn fic. But now that that is completed, this should move more regularly. By the way, this is from Legolas' pov, just so no one is confused._

_Disclaimer: I don't think I've been doing this for this story, so I'd better do it now. I do not own these characters, not one single one. ;( But despite that, I can make them do whatever I want! The amazing advantages of writing fan fiction..._

**Part 3**

**Happy Birthday**

Chapter 1.

I have to confess that I just love tormenting Lindir. It's just so fun to watch him squirm. Besides, it's so _easy_ that it's impossible to resist the temptation.

Now, you might be under the impression that Lindir is always unhappy and always in some sort of trouble. This is not the case. Lindir actually leads a very happy life, and is even usually cheerful.

The problem is, he's so _annoying_ when he's cheerful. He makes up horrible songs about the Valley that don't exactly rhyme. At all. Well, maybe by a large stretch of the imagination. And then he _sings_ them. Believe me, it's even worse than you think.

So I find it my duty to humanity to make him miserable, simply because if I don't he would make everyone one else. Miserable, that is.

I have quite a bit of experience and am quite good at it, though I say so who shouldn't. I have found out a great deal about Lindir that most people don't know. For example, there's something in particular that he _really_ hates.

He hates being called Figwit. If you so much as mention the name in his presence he will get up and leave the room. If you use the name in reference to him he will get up, leave the room and slam the door. And if you actually call him it, he will get up, leave the room, slam the door, and not speak to you for the rest of the day. That's how I know he hates it; normally when I do something he dislikes he only blinks.

Though I have found out by my own genius means that he hates the word 'Figwit', I have not yet figured out why. However, being the brilliant Elf that I am, I realize the 'why' doesn't matter so much, just as long as it _does_ annoy him. And it never ceases to.

Well, it didn't until that episode of the Blonde's Birthday Party.

Somehow (no matter what Lindir may say about it, it had nothing to do with me), someone had gotten the bright idea that Lindir was going to plan everyone's favourite blonde's birthday party. No, not me; Glorfindel, the brave blonde balrog-slayer. I _hate_ that guy. He thinks he's special because he resurrected; but he's nothing much. He doesn't have a King for a dad. Ha!

Anyway, somehow this rumor popped up, and everyone was like, 'Hey, when's it gonna be, man?' (That's how Gondorian soldiers talk.)

Well, Lindir was in quite a jam. He doesn't like Glorfindel any more than I do, and the idea of planning his special day did not appeal to him in the least. He told me himself, and this is in his own words, that he'd 'rather plan his death-day party'. And those are strong words from Imladris' mild minstrel.

Well, I felt pretty good for a few days. With Lindir worrying about planning the stupid party, I was free to walk Rivendell undisturbed by the usual instrumentation that was generally seeping through the background and proceeding from Lindir's happy harp (which I couldn't escape, by the way; I had been banished from Mirkwood and sent to Imladris for some slight thing I did, but that's another story). I don't like instrumental music, nor do I like Lindir's singing style; I prefer good old Mirkwood jazz. Or Isengard rap. Or (don't tell dad) Orthanc heavy metal. Lord Elrond has no taste.

So I was happy. For a little while. But you know, when you've been doing something for years, it's rather hard to give up all at once.  
That's why I found myself almost unconsciously calling him Figwit one day.

'Figwit,' I said, 'is there any tea left?'

Suddenly Lindir's face lit up, as if in inspiration. It startled me, rather, and bothered me exceedingly. What had I done? Had I accidentally brought down upon Imladris the curse of Lindir's happy trilling once more?

'Excuse me,' he said, 'I must be off at once.' He had this hopeful look on his face, as if he had a plan he hoped would work. (As you can tell, I'm extremely perceptive.)

'Where are you going?' I said, relieved. Maybe he would go somewhere else to sing.

'Nowhere in particular,' he said. He was right.

'LLIINDIIIIIRR!' yelled a voice. A very recognizable voice. It was Lord Elrond.

'What is it, my Lord?' asked Lindir, cringing.

'Where are those streamers?' asked Lord Elrond, entering the room.

'S- streamers?' asked Lindir. He looked confused.

'Yes. Streamers. Streamers. S-t-r-e-'

'My Lord,' he quickly interrupted, flushing slightly, 'I understand what you mean by streamers now. But I don't understand what you want streamers for.'

Lord Elrond looked surprised.

'Why, for Glorfindel's birthday party, of course!' he said. 'I think they should be light blue.'

Lindir smiled weakly. 'Yes, baby blue does just seem to be his colour,' he agreed. He teetered a bit, and held onto the back of the chair he had vacated when Elrond had entered. He looked rather faint. I began to almost, _almost_ feel sorry for him.

'Yes, well,' said Elrond, putting his hands behind his back. 'I trust your preparations are going well?'

'My Lord,' said Lindir, glancing at me as if he wanted me to leave (which I didn't. Why should I? I wanted to finish breakfast), 'I don't think that I will personally be able to make it to Glorfindel's birthday party. Perhaps someone else...'

'WHAT?' roared Elrond. Lindir cringed again. He has such weak ears, you know; he just can't handle angry Elven Lords. He's rather soft. 'Where are you going to be?'

'I was planning on a vacation,' he said. But he didn't look very confident.

'Vacation?' said Elrond. 'You'll get your vacation when _I_ say. I didn't say you could go anywhere!'

'Yes, my Lord,' he said weakly.

I watched with some amusement. Lindir scowled at me. He wanted me to leave. Exactly why I was staying. Though I was enjoying finishing up the marmalade while I was waiting.

Lord Elrond left. Lindir didn't seem in as bad a mood as I had hoped for.

'Don't touch that,' he said, as I reached for some sheets of paper he had left on the table. He swatted my hand away. 'You'll get marmalade on it.'

'Wuewr,' I said, shrugging and helping myself to more muffins. 'Wuf in dif?'

'Please speak Elvish,' he said, sighing in exasperation.

I attempted to swallow, but having too much in my mouth at the moment I didn't succeed exactly well. I began to cough. Lindir smirked. I _hate_ it when he smirks.

He walked off whistling, clutching his precious papers and looking much too cheery for someone who had imminent planning of Glorfindel's birthday party to do.

I choked, and brought my feet off of the table with a bang. I would get to the bottom of this.

_Note: Please review~ tell me what you're doing this summer. :D _


	13. Part Three, Chapter 2

_Note: Yay for Mirlasse being the fiftieth reviewer! :D :D :D Thanks to all my reviewers, you guys rock! Also all those who favourited or followed this story, I love you all!_  
_Here is the next chapter. This part only has four, but I think they're all longer than usual._  
_Also, I should put a warning here. Lots of usage of fell words (mainly it's alluding to a certain evil Vala. Also much immaturity on the part of two Elves. _  
_The part with Gildor and Galdor does not have much to do with the story; I just felt like putting them in. :P_

**Part 3**

Chapter 2.

'By Melkor's minions,' Galdor cursed, 'what is that?'

Gildor gasped and backed away, holding up his hands to guard his face from the pure fell-ness. 'Do not speak of such things here,' he told his companion. 'In fact,' he added after a moment's thought, 'do not speak of them anywhere.'

Galdor rolled his eyes. 'Fine, then,' he said. 'By Gandalf's beard, what is that?'

'That's an improvement,' said Gildor.

'You're not answering me!' yelled Galdor. 'I asked what it was!'

'Stop yelling,' said Gildor. 'It's a salad, that's what it is.'

'Oh, it is?' said Galdor. 'What in Valinor's name is in it?'

'Oh, just some greens,' said Gildor casually.

'Is it spinach?' asked Galdor suspiciously.

'Dum de dum,' hummed his friend, pretending not to hear.

'Huh,' growled Galdor, thumping down onto a rock and picking up his bowl. 'I don't understand why the bad guys get to use fell words and fell cloaks and fell weapons and fell everything that's cool, but it's us who have to eat the fell food: greens.' He took a bite. 'By Melkor,' he cursed again, spitting it out.

'Stop saying that,' cried Gildor, looking pained.

'Melkor, Melkor,' said Galdor. 'Melkor Melkor Melkor.'

'I'm not LISTENING!' called Gildor, jumping up and down with his hands over his ears. 'Da de da dum de lade dum do trally!'

'MELKOR!' yelled Galdor.

'BLEEEEEEEEP!' yelled Gildor, trying to drown out the sound.

'I'll stop saying it if you let me go back and get a sandwich!'

'No! You're supposed to be on a diet!'

'Melkor, then,' said Galdor. 'Melkor Melkor.'

'You could at least say Morgoth instead,' said Gildor. 'That's tamer.'

'MELKORRR!'

'Aaaahhhh!' Gildor screamed.

Just then Merry walked up.

THUNK. He banged them both on the head. (This was harder than it sounds; they were both standing up, and though Merry was tall for a Hobbit, he had a hard time reaching the tops of their blonde pates.)

The two Elves fell to the ground.

'Ow,' observed Galdor.  
'By Mel- I mean, by Galadriel's mirror,' said Gildor. 'That's what I meant.' He nodded vigorously.

'Where did you two learn such language?' asked Merry, plopping down on the grass beside them. 'You been hanging out with Nazgul or something?'

'Nope,' said Gildor. 'Cross my heart and hope to die.'

'Yes he has,' said Galdor.

'Galdor!' said Gildor, horrified. 'You told!'

'Yes I did,' said Galdor serenely. 'You see, my little half-pint hobbit friend, we were kidnapped.'

THONK

Thonk is a good word. It's exactly the sound that Galdor's head makes when you bang on it. A kind of a sort of a hollow, muffled, echo-y sound. A very pleasant noise. Merry decided to do it again.

THONK

'Little half-pint?' he repeated. 'For the love of the halls of Mandos!'

'Speaking of the halls of Mandos,' continued Galdor, readjusting his head, 'we almost went there. It was quite interesting, really.'

'We were taken through the black gate,' said Gildor. He shivered.

'And there we met the Mouth.'

'Whose mouth?' asked Merry.

'Sauron's Mouth,' said Galdor. 'He took us into Mordor and we were stuck there for days on end, being tortured by Orcs.'

'Until we escaped,' said Gildor cheerily. 'Now we're making our way back to Rivendell.'

'The Havens,' corrected Galdor.

'No, Rivendell,' said Gildor. 'I don't want to go to the Havens.'

'Well, I do!' said Galdor.

'Oh shut up,' said Merry, getting ready to thonk them again.

At that moment, Lindir walked by, leading a horse and surrounded by many other random Elves who wished to escape precipitously to Valinor before tickets sold out. Or someone burned all the boats. Or something like that.

Needless to say, Gildor and Galdor were quite surprised to see him.

'How now, it's Lindir the fair!' cried Galdor.

'Lindir? Here?' asked Gildor, though he could see him plainly. He was the convenient kind of Elf that asks all the questions that have obvious answers. This kind of Elf is convenient because then there is someone to listen to you when you state obvious facts, which Elves are very fond of doing.

'Ssssssss,' hissed Lindir, 'I'm traveling incognito.'

'Traveling in what?' asked Gildor.

'He said traveling in Cogneto,' said Galdor superiorly.

'What's going on?' asked Merry.

Lindir stepped out from among his companions and tiptoed towards the trio. 'Hush, not a word,' he said. 'I'm traveling as Figwit the non-existent, and I wish no one to know that I am really myself.'

'Why?' asked Gildor.

'It's a long story,' said Lindir. 'Let me sum up. I, through reasons that are too long to recount, must plan something that I don't want to plan. I, for reasons that are too many to count, do not want to plan that thing that I don't want to plan. I, through genius too great to be understood, have evolved a plan to escape planning that plan that I don't want to plan. I, as you can see, have almost succeeded.'

'What?' Galdor said.

'Huh?' asked Gildor.

'Forget it,' said Lindir. 'But who is this young halfling?'

'I am Meriadoc Brandybuck,' said Merry cheerfully. 'Who are you?'

'I am Lindir of Imladris. I mean Figwit. I'm Figwit. But I haven't much time; I need to be getting to Valinor before Lord Elrond finds out.'

'Can I come?' asked Merry.

'Why don't you want Lord Elrond to know?' asked Gildor.

'See?' said Galdor, 'I told you we should go to the Havens. If we go to Rivendell you're sure to spill the secret.'

'I would not,' said Gildor.

'Goodbye,' said Lindir, who was tired of having his time wasted.

Just then the group was startled by the appearance of Arwen. 'Lindir!' she said, 'my father is looking everywhere for you. Come on; he has some advice about the party decorations or something.'

Lindir winced. Why did Arwen have to happen by just when he was about to make his escape?

'A party?' said Gildor.

'Ok, fine, we can go to Imladris,' said Galdor.

'Can I come?' asked Merry.

'No,' said Lindir nastily. He was losing his temper. 'Goodbye, my lady, I am leaving and never coming back.'

'Oh, Lindir, don't leave,' said Arwen. 'We _need_ you!'

Lindir is a pushover.

* * *

Lindir went back to Imladris, dragged by Gildor, Galdor, and Arwen. When he arrived, Lord Elrond was waiting for him. I was there, too. It was, of course, my brilliant brain that had thought of the idea that Lindir would try to escape to Valinor. Of course, I didn't say this to Elrond; I merely hinted that maybe he had gone to the Havens for a visit. It was enough; immediately Lord Elrond had sent out his daughter (who he wanted out of the way for a while anyway) to find him. Lindir guessed my part in it, I think, because he shot me deathly glares.

'Lindir,' said Lord Elrond, 'you shouldn't be going to the Havens when you have so much planning to do! You have to organize-' here his voice sank to a very audible whisper- 'Glorfindel's birthday party!'

Lindir's frown turned devious. 'Legolas has offered to plan it, though,' he said evilly. Seriously, he said it so evilly that I could feel the evilness pulsing through the air.

'...!?' I thought.

'Oh, really?' asked Elrond, his face lighting up. 'Then it shall _really_ be done right!'

I had the satisfaction of seeing Lindir scowl. It wasn't very consoling, though.

'My Lord Elrond,' I said carefully, 'I believe that Glorfindel would appreciate it more if it was someone who he was _very_ fond of. Like Lindir.' I consider myself a gifted diplomat, though I sometimes make mistakes (like that time I told Aragorn that he looked terrible; I had to give him a nice necklace I found so that he wouldn't kill me), and I decided to use this talent in the present instance.

'Oh, but Glorfindel _likes_ you,' said Elrond significantly. More satisfaction in the form of Lindir's scowls.

'Lord Elrond,' I said even more carefully, 'I would be more than happy to advance the funds for the party. However, I'm a very busy Elf, you know, with all the album-signings*.'

'Oh, yes, of course. How thoughtless of me,' said Elrond understandingly. 'Don't worry about it, Lindir will take care of it.'

'My Lord,' Lindir protested, 'I've got a rather busy schedule, too. I'm in the middle of a song...'

'Yes, we know, Lindir' I said loftily. 'Write a song, sing a song, play a song. Endless repeat. You're extremely busy, obviously. Of course.'

Lindir's scowl is very therapeutic.

'Make time, Lindir,' said Lord Elrond. 'Why did you commit to it in the first place?' Lord Elrond smiled cheerily and left.

'Score,' I said.

'Mordor,' cursed Lindir under his breath.

I smiled.

* * *

*Legolas was famous at this time for his rap single, 'They're Taking the Hobbits to Isengard'. He was very rich from the proceeds of this, and his father had stopped supporting him because he had enough money on his own.

_Note: Me again! I just wanted to tell those who read my other stories (you guys are amazing!) that my 'Middle Earth: Its Mental Condition' might be getting updated soon. If it does, it will probably be the already existing chapters getting edited, not new chapters being added. I was thinking of putting more about each character in each chapter. Anyway, just so you know that, when you see it's been updated. :D_


	14. Part Three, Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Chapter 3.

Lindir's attempt, though futile, worried me somewhat. Would he try again, and this time would he succeed? I decided to lie low and be invisible for awhile.

Until I remembered that I had rashly agreed to fund the party. Immediately, visions of gold confetti and mithril party favors flashed into my mind.

'Billions of monstrous deathly spiders,' I cursed, and ran to find Lindir.

I found him. He was surrounded by about a dozen Elves, each saying something and none of them listening to the others. At first I didn't see him in the throng. He isn't the sort of person who is in crowds; he's always by himself, separate, alone. And I could tell he hated being in this one.

'Off of my foot,' he said to someone. _Someone_ didn't listen.

'I'll do the cake,' said Elrond, who happened to be one of the Elves that thronged the minstrel.

'My Lord,' said some lady who happened to hear, 'I've already volunteered for the cake.'

'Nonsense,' said Lord Elrond. He said something else, but it was drowned out by his son.

'I'm doing the confetti,' yelled Elrohir.

'No, me!' said Elladan.

'No, me!' said Gildor and Galdor, both at once.

Someone's fist somehow got in someone's eye. The ensuing scuffle was by no means bloodless, and it, for a moment, distracted the Elves.

I pulled Lindir aside while I had the chance. 'Lindir, old chum,' I said in my friendliest tone, 'perhaps I'll help plan it after all.'

Lindir raised and eyebrow, not bothering to hide his surprise and suspicion. 'Why?' he asked dubiously.

'Well,' I said, 'I've sort of had some inspiration, you know. An idea. For the party. I thought perhaps that my input would be helpful.'

I believe Lindir by this time had worked out my motive. His scowl slowly morphed into a smirk.

'Well, now that it comes to it,' he said sweetly, 'I think I can handle it. I've begun to-'

He was cut off by Haldir running into him. Literally.

'Lindir,' said Haldir breathlessly, 'I've come to volunteer for decorations.'

'That's what _I'm_ doing,' said the pushy female who wanted to do the cake. Chaos began. I should say, continued, shouldn't I?

I could see Lindir weakening. I tried another approach.

'Of course, not helping would give me more time,' I said. 'Come to think of it, perhaps I shouldn't.'

'Fine,' said Lindir, at last. 'You can help. But remember: all final decisions are mine. I get the veto power. Agreed?'

'Agreed,' said I. I smirked. And then remembered what I'd gotten myself into. I sighed.

'Snap,' I observed.

* * *

The preparations for the party began.

Thankfully, dad had artfully invited Glorfindel to Mirkwood for awhile so that we could carry on without him noticing. If he hadn't, the party would have never been a surprise. Well, it would still have been a surprise, but not the kind of surprise we were hoping for.

'Legolas,' said Lindir to me as we were both thronged by many helpful Elves, 'we need a system. Some sort of something to organize this.'

I somehow knew what he meant.

'What do you propose?' I asked, shoving someone off of my foot.

'A list,' he said, 'with everything that needs to be done written on it. Then people can sign up for what they want to do.'

'Good idea,' I said. 'GET OFF OF MY FOOT!' I added in an aside to a careless Elf.

'I'll go get the paper and write it out,' Lindir said calmly, and ignored my wrestling with the careless Elf.

'Excuse me,' he said quietly to the general crowd. Of course no one heard him. 'Excuse me,' he said, louder.

'SHUT UP!' I yelled. Ha, it worked. I love feeling how powerful I am.

'Ahem. You must stop bothering Legolas and me for now, we have work to do,' he said. 'Come on, Legolas.'

'I followed him to the study.

'Now,' he said, getting out pen and ink, 'what is there that must be done?'

'Cake and ice cream,' was all I could think of.

'Well, let's see,' he began. 'Someone will have to do the invitations; there will be cleaning; decorations; party favours...'

I suppose I wasn't very helpful at this time. I'm not good at things like making lists. I'm more skilled in jumping around on Mumakil.

Lindir finished.

'I'll need your voice again,' he said dryly, as we went back to the room we had been in before.

'EVERYONE BE QUIET!' I said. 'I- I mean, _we,_ have an announcement.'

'I have a paper here,' said Lindir, 'that has all the jobs that need to be done. Each person can sign up for one thing, and only one. Is that clear?'

He put the paper on the table. There was a mad rush.

'I'm doing the confetti!' yelled someone.

Lindir moaned.

* * *

When the paper was gotten back, everything was assigned except for bathroom cleaning. No one wanted to do that.

Some things had more than one name on them. Ice cream and confetti both had Elladan, Elrohir, Gildor and Galdor's names scrawled in wherever they would fit. Cake had Elrond and Cilivren written beside it.

Lindir sighed.

'Oh, well,' I said consolingly, 'I'm sure they'll work it out.'

He didn't look very consoled. He stomped off to find the twins and Gildor and Galdor. I followed him, because I felt like being entertained.

They happened to be together, fighting over who was doing what.

'Lindir!' yelled one of the twins, 'I said I'd do the confetti first.'

'No, I did!' said Gildor.

'You can all do the confetti,' said Lindir, 'but you will have to share.' He tugged on his hair. 'Why do I have to treat you like three-year-olds?' he yelled. Well, nothing Lindir does comes close to _yelling,_ but this was the loudest I'd ever heard him say anything.

Galdor shrugged. 'I'm doing the ice cream, anyway,' he said.

'No, you're not,' said Lindir.

'I'll do the ice cream,' I said helpfully. 'Then you people won't have to fight over it anymore!' Lindir glared at me. 'What? I thought it was a brilliant pl-' I was cut off, for suddenly I was under a heap of Elves.

'I'm doing it!' they yelled.

'Very well then,' said Lindir, 'each person can pick out one flavour.' He said it to make the Elves get off me, but he took an awful long time about it.

'That's settled,' he said. 'Now to find Lord Elrond.'

'No, we should find Cilivren,' I said. 'If she makes the cake it will be coconut, and I want chocolate.'

'Coconut is good,' he said.

'Chocolate is better,' I replied. Irrefutable.

He hesitated, deciding whether to prefer coconut to spite me, or to choose chocolate because that would be more delicious.

'Very well,' he said at last, 'Chocolate it is.' He went to find Cilivren.

He came back a moment later with great speed. 'Under the circumstances,' he gasped, 'I think it would be wisest to let Cilivren do the cake.'

Then he was gone, and an angry female rushed past after him.

Poor Lindir. Oh, well, it wasn't my problem. Anyway, he's a fast runner.

* * *

_A/N: Over sixty reviews! *dies of happiness* Thank you to all reviewers, readers, favouriters (this should really be a word by now), and followers! You guys are amazing. May the force be with you! ~~~~~~~~~ *fade out*_


	15. Part Three, Chapter 4

_A/N: This is the last chapter of this part. ;( Unfortunately, that may mean that this won't be updated for a week or so, as I work on writing part four. But I've already started it, so it shouldn't take too long! :D Enjoy. _

**Part 3**

Chapter 4.

The day of the party came. Everything was ready, and we waited only for Glorfindel to return from Mirkwood.

Well, everything was ready _except _for the bathrooms, which no one would clean.

Lindir stood at the end of the hall, rubbing his temples nervously.

'Don't worry,' I said.

'Every time you say that, something terrible happens,' he snapped.

I would have said something cutting and clever in reply, but we were interrupted by Gildor.

'Glorfindel is coming,' he yelled.

Lindir gulped.

Several minutes later Glorfindel walked into the main room. No one was there.

'Surprise!' yelled everyone, and jumped out from behind random objects.

Glorfindel was so surprised that he almost loosed an arrow towards Lord Elrond's head.

'Happy Birthday,' said Lord Elrond.

'Uh,' said Glorfindel.

'Let's eat cake!' someone said. I think it was Elrohir.

'Presents!' said Elladan. 'Presents first!'

'Confetti!' yelled Gildor and Galdor.

That substance immediately covered everything. I was _really_ annoyed; that stuff is so hard to get out of my hair.

Lindir was more annoyed then me, though, because he hates sparkly things. I can make confetti-y hair look cool, but he can't. One of his fates, I suppose.

Glorfindel was very good about it. He smiled wanly and shook everyone's hand in the nicest manner he could. Then he opened the presents and remembered to thank everybody. I never do; there's always someone I miss, and then I don't get a present from him the next year. Glorfindel is very talented at making everyone like him.

'CAKE!' yelled Galdor.

I had put the candles in the cake, and I must say that it looked very impressive. The candles I had gotten myself; they were those sparkler candles that look like fireworks. I got them from Gandalf, of course.

I brought out the cake and proudly pushed it in front of Glorfindel's face.

Then we sang 'Happy Birthday To You' in the most awful way possible. I think Elrond started it, because it was way too low for most of the Elvish voices present, and then someone slowed way down at the end so that it felt like a dirge. I hate that song. People always sing it in this annoying way: really fast at the beginning as if they're trying to rush through, and then slowing down at the end as if they decided they like it and don't want to stop. Ugh.

And then someone started singing it again.

My arm was tired, and I almost dropped the cake into Glorfindel's lap. Thankfully _someone_ (you know, I have a feeling it was one of the same two _someones_ each of these times _someone_ did something, and I think it was the two _someones_ whose names start with E) slammed a hand over the person's mouth who was singing, and Glorfindel blew out the candles.

Tried to.

There were lots and lots and lots and lots of candles on that cake. I didn't know exactly how old Glorfindel was turning, so I had just covered every inch with candles. And it looked like a beacon by the time I had lit it. Or a porcupine on fire. Whichever mental image you prefer.

Amazingly, Glorfindel managed to blow them all out.

Then they re-lit themselves.

'Gandalf!' I yelled. 'What trickery is this?'

'I don't know,' he said. 'I got those from a Hobbit.'

'Was it Pippin?' I asked.

'Well...' he said uncomfortably.

'Someone get the fire extinguisher,' shouted Elladan.

'No!' I said. But too late.

But it wouldn't have made much of a difference, because the cake was unfit to eat anyway. It had a crust of wax an inch thick on it.

'No worries,' said Elrond. 'I've got another one!'

'I told you Cilivren was going to make the cake,' I said.

'_I'm_ Lord Elrond,' he said, 'and what I say goes. Besides, aren't you glad I did after all?'

I had to admit that I was. Chocolate is better, anyway.

Then the ice cream was brought in.

Never send four immature Elves to buy ice cream. They came tromping in, each balancing six quarts of ice cream in their hands and on their heads.

I remembered with woe that it was my money which was paying for this.

Well, we had our ice cream and cake, and everything from then on went pretty well.

'Speech!' said Galdor. 'Speech from the birthday Elf!'

Glorfindel stood up. He looked rather worn out.

'As you all know,' he said, 'I am a very old Elf. But old as I am, I have never had a birthday as- exciting as this one.' We cheered. 'I will take this opportunity to thank those who worked so hard on this excellent party; especially the ones who organized it.' He coughed. 'Lindir and I have been good friends for a long time,' he lied. 'I don't know where I'd be without him. Everybody give him a round of applause!'

It was a lie, but a nice one. That's how Glorfindel is. He pretends to be nice to everyone, but he's mean when no one's looking.

Lindir flushed scarlet and tried to duck under the table. I grabbed him and held him still.

'Thank you again, my friends,' said Glorfindel. 'Goodnight.'

He walked over to where I was wrestling with Lindir.

'Hello,' he said. 'How goes it?'

'Badly,' said Lindir.

'Good,' said I.

'Ahem,' he said, 'did you know...' he paused.

'No,' I said.

'I think there was a slight mistake with dates,' he said.

'Oh?'  
'Yes. Today was not the day I was born, nor is it even the day I resurrected.'

I felt a nameless foreboding, and gasped. 'Oh, dear,' I said.

'Today was the day I died.'

There was a snort behind me. I turned to find Lindir trying with all his might to look superior and wise and trying very hard not to laugh.

'Did you do that on purpose?' I asked suspiciously.

'No,' he gasped. 'I swear. But I rather wish I did.'

Glorfindel laughed. That surprised me. If I had been him I would have stuck an arrow into Lindir in some painful spot.

'I shall always remember this birthday party, at least,' he said.

'Well, you were very kind not to mention the mistake in front of everybody,' I said.

'Oh,' he said, 'I'm saving that for blackmail material.' He walked away.

Lindir's smirk evolved into a look of horror.

'I had nothing to do with this,' I said. 'Nothing.'

* * *

I still don't know what Figwit is, or what it means, but perhaps someday I can find some blackmail material of my own to use on Lindir to find out. Whatever Figwit is, I hope it doesn't have something to do with birthdays. I'm rather not looking forward to my own now.

* * *

_Blackmail is Forevaaaa! I want a t-shirt that says that...  
Note: If you don't know who Figwit is, I may explain it more in another part.  
__Sparkler birthday candles: have you guys ever used them? We had some, and they seriously did relight themselves. I don't know whether they were defective, or if that's just what they normally do, but it was weird. o.O  
__Thanks to ccgaylord for the whole cake idea. Her stories are awesome, and I highly recommend them. There's a really funny one she's working on at the moment, called 'Survival of the Fellowship'._

_Of course, please review! You silent readers, you are awesome, too, but you'd be awesomer if you reviewed! :P_


	16. Part Three, b Interlude

A/N: This is just a very quick one-shot to hold you over until the next chapter. It's coming! I had lost my notebook, though... O.o But I've found it now, so all I have to do is transfer the story onto the computer! ... :(

* * *

_Set: A beautiful grassy green hillside. **FRODO BAGGINS** is standing, waiting for someone._  
(En. Gandalf on old cart)  
**Frodo:** Thou art late, Gandalf.  
**Gandalf:** Nay, Frodo. A Wizard knoweth not what it is to be late, nor doth he know what it is to be early. He arriveth precisely when he meaneth to.  
**Frodo:** I am pleased that thou hast returned.  
(Ex. Frodo and Gandalf)  
_Set: Int. Bag End_  
(rap on the door)  
**Bilbo (offstage):** Get thee hence! I want not any distant relations, wishers of wellness, or other sundry.  
**Gandalf (offstage):** What and if I were a very old friend?  
(Ent. Gandalf)  
**Gandalf:** How now, Bilbo!  
**Bilbo:** Gandalf! Is this the Wizard I see before me?  
(another rap on the door)  
**Bilbo:** How now! A rat?  
**Lobelia Sackville-Baggins (offstage):** Bilbo Baggins! Open thou this door!  
**Bilbo:** 'Tis the Sackville-Bagginses! I am not at home! (hides)  
(Ent. Lord Elrond)  
**Gandalf:** Wait, what? (looks at script)  
**Lord Elrond:** What's going on?  
(Ent. Galdor and Gildor)  
**Galdor:** We're rehearsing a play!  
**Gildor:** -eth!  
**Gandalf:** Huh? (searches script) Where are my glasses? I can't see this thing...  
**Elrond:** A play...?  
**Galdor:** Yes, a play-  
**Gildor:** -eth! I keep telling you to call it 'Playeth'!  
**Galdor:** No, that would only be if it were 'plays' plural...  
**Lord Elrond:** (face-palms) I should never have assigned the Shakespeare reading... Just exactly whose idea was this?  
(Ent. Lindir)  
**Lindir:** Galdor's.  
**Galdor:** Gildor's.  
**Elrond:** In other words, both of you. Everybody out of my study, except the two miscreants!  
**Galdor:** But the play!  
**Gildor:** -eth!  
(Ent. Glorfindel)  
**Glorfindel:** Go play somewhere else. I need to talk to Lord Elrond... in private.  
**Elrond:** There are too many people in my study!  
**Galdor:** But the study looks the most like Bag End...  
**Elrond:** Out.  
**Bilbo:** Frodo, you don't happen-  
**Lindir:** Off my foot, you fool  
**Bilbo:** -to have anymore-  
**Elrond:** Exit immediately!  
**Gildor:** But-  
**Galdor:** We-  
**Bilbo:** -of that pipeweed?  
**Lindir:** Ouch!  
**Glorfindel:** Lord Elrond, I wanted to discuss  
**Frodo:** I don't smoke. I got fumiphobia after I went to Mordor...  
**Gildor:** -want to perform-  
**Galdor:** -the play-  
**Lindir:** Glorfindel, call off the insolent puppy who is sticking marshmallows in my hair  
(Sudden appearance of the twins)  
**Glorfindel:** Valar preserve us  
**Bilbo:** Oh, that's right; with all the publicity you-  
**Elrond:** Aah! I dropped my circlet...  
**Elrohir:** I'll get it!  
**Elrond:** Nooo-  
**Glorfindel:** Lindir! What did you do to Elladan?  
**Lindir:** Don't worry, he's immortal  
**Bilbo:** -get, you wouldn't want to promote smoking. It's bad for Elves.  
**Galdor:** I want to try it!  
**Elrond:** THAT'S ENOUGH! EVERYONE OUT THIS INSTANT!

* * *

There you go! The next chapter will be here soon. Thank you for waiting; you guys are amazing.

Special thanks to Gigigue for beta reading this. By the way, go read her stories. They're really good (esp. Lord of the Phones).

Question: Do you want more Shakespearean Middle Earth?

Please review! :)


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